


someday my princess will come

by sansaswildlinglover



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dany is in this, Dirty Talk, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, I think Jon says the word 'fuck' like 37 times, R Plus L Equals J, Shameless Smut, a hint of Jonmund, and everyone knows, but apart from that his dirty talk is actually incredibly sweet?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-01 11:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20257423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansaswildlinglover/pseuds/sansaswildlinglover
Summary: Jon has been in a coma since the end of the Long Night, after trying to stab the Night King. Sansa is desperate and willing to try anything.Or, the one where the Lord's Kiss is the only thing that can wake up a comatose Jon. And then they have hot sex.





	someday my princess will come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alzerak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alzerak/gifts).

> As you requested, a fic where Sansa rides Jon's face to wake him up from a coma.  
I hope you'll like it!

Sansa was startled awake as she began sliding off the edge of pillow she was resting her head on. "Jon!" was her first thought.

He was still lying in the middle of her bed, unchanged and unmoving, eyes closed and breathing steadily.

There was a sudden knock at the door before Arya stuck her head in. "Get dressed. Sam thinks he's found something. Everyone will be here soon."

Sansa nodded to indicate she'd heard her. Then she sat up on the bed and smiled down at Jon, brushing some stray curls from his forehead. "Hear that? You may be awake soon."

Sansa didn't bother to dress. She was wearing a thick and heavy bedrobe, and anyone who took offence at seeing her like that in her own bedroom should just leave again. Jon's condition was the only matter of importance to her right now.

Soon, the door opened again, and they all started filing in: Sam, Arya, Bran, Brienne, Tormund, and Daenerys and Missandei.

Sansa sat up on the bed, not leaving Jon's side. "What did you learn, Sam?" she asked.

Sam cleared his throat, his cheeks turning red as he saw everyone in the room watching him. "Well, I wasn't specifically looking at the time," he started. "I was just browsing through a book on Free Folk myths and legends to clear my head a bit."

He glanced around, giggling nervously. "Anyway, I found a story about a village in the Frostfangs that was attacked by White Walkers. Some of them managed to escape into the mountain, and there was a man named Ornik among them who ended up in a similar condition to Jon. We can't really be sure what happened to him, as there weren't a lot of details, but the circumstances and symptoms seem similar enough and-

"Sam," Arya interrupted him. "Will you get to the point?"

Sam blinked at her. "Oh, yes, of course," he muttered, clearing his throat again. "There's an account of the man being revived by a lucky woman whose name was Salca. There was this little note scribbled in the margin of the book as well, which said "_kissed by fire" _with a question mark." His finger drew said mark in the air, to emphasize his point. 

"How did this Salca revive Ornik?" Sansa asked.

"She woke him up with a kiss."

Tormund barked out a deep belly laugh and rubbed his hands together. "Alright then! I'll give our little crow a big smoosh so we can all have him back!"

Before he could reach the bed, he was stopped by a small gloved hand.

"Excuse me," Daenerys said, folding her hands in front of her with a smug smile on her face. "I appreciate your offer, Tormund, but I think it is clear it should be me who gives Aegon this kiss."

Sansa had to clench her teeth in order not to snigger at the way Arya rolled her eyes behind Daenerys' back, but a moment later she felt like smashing her head in with a candlestick. _His name is Jon, _she fumed inwardly, _not Aegon. _

Daenerys walked to the bed and climbed up on it on the other side of Jon. She kneeled down beside him and stared at Sansa with contempt in her eyes. Sansa glared right back, arching an eyebrow.

"Would you mind?" the Dragon Queen asked.

"I'm not going anywhere," Sansa said slowly.

Daenerys' nostrils flared, her lip twitching. "As you wish."

Sansa wasn't about to watch them, so as soon as Daenerys wasn't looking anymore, she averted her eyes.

When it was over, she studied Jon's face intently, but nothing happened, and Daenerys' self-congratulatory smile slipped from her face. 

She shuffled back and hopped off the bed, walking to Sam. "Your book was wrong, Tarly," she spat, before whirling around to address the room. "I'm afraid I can't wait any longer. Cersei Lannister still holds my Throne. I need to go south now."

No one responded as she looked around the room, except for Missandei who nodded with a frown on her face. She faced the bed and said: "I shall come back for you, my love."

She turned again and left the room with Missandei quickly following her. 

Tormund shrugged. "My turn then. Always knew he loved me more than that Dragon bitch," he sighed dramatically. 

The mattress dipped under Tormund's weight as he climbed up on the bed and leaned down over Jon, bracing his hand next to his head, before opening his mouth to give Jon a big slobbering kiss.

Sansa felt her cheeks flush as Tormund grinned up at her. "You jealous, lass?" he asked. "You want a kiss, too?"

"No, thank you, Tormund," she answered him with a smile. 

"Maybe you should try it," he told her as he moved off the bed. "You're kissed by fire as well, lucky." He winked at her. "Snow has always liked gingers."

"Ew, gross!" Arya piped up. "Bran! Why can't you find a way to help Jon?"

Bran sighed. "I've told you time and time again that Jon will be fine."

"But you won't tell us how!"

Their brother made a weird face, as if he'd suddenly smelled something unpleasant. "I think we should leave Sansa and Jon alone again," he answered simply. "He probably needs another wash."

After that comment they all started to leave the room again, Arya muttering angrily as she wheeled Bran through the door. 

And then everyone was gone, and she and Jon were alone again. Sansa's lips curled into a smile. Of course she would have been happy if Jon had woken up. She wanted him back, safe and healthy, more than anything. But she couldn't help feeling pleased by the Dragon Queen's failure to awaken him with her kiss.

In fact, she felt like a bit of an idiot for not thinking about this solution herself. She knew all the stories and plenty of them had a part about the power of true love's kiss. Perhaps she could blame it on the fact that she'd stopped believing in songs a long time ago, or perhaps she simply hadn't dared to hope her kiss would have that power over him.

She moved closer to Jon, pushing his curls away from his forehead again and watched his peaceful face. 

Sansa had hoped, had almost _known _that Daenerys' kiss couldn't wake him up. She didn't know what love was, which was probably the saddest thing about her, and of course Sansa had feared against her better judgement that Jon might love the Dragon Queen, but if he did, surely she would have been successful.

Perhaps Sansa would be able to wake him up, and there really was only one way to find out, but she still hesitated. They had only shared one night of _passion_, she supposed she could call it, the night before the White Walkers had attacked Winterfell. He'd only just told her he was not her brother and yet she'd had no trouble falling into his arms and his bed. 

Part of her felt ashamed about it, but they'd both feared they would all be dead soon, surely such a thing could be forgiven? Their lovemaking had been sweet and desperate, and declarations of love and promises of what may come if they were to survive were made, but would that be enough?

She took her handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped Jon's lips clean of any trace of Tormund and Daenerys, and tossed the thing off the bed. She pushed that stubborn curl that kept falling over his eyes away again and inhaled deeply. She leaned in and briefly brushed her lips over his. She pulled back, holding her breath, but nothing happened.

Her first kiss had been soft and quick, so she pressed her lips to his more firmly this time, moving them against his mouth and sighing his name. Unfortunately nothing happened.

Embarassed she turned away from him, even though she knew he wasn't aware of what was happening around him. Did this mean Jon didn't love her? Or had Sam's book simply been wrong? Perhaps all the songs were lies after all.

Hot tears pricked behind her tightly closed eyelids, and then she heard it, a whisper soft as a summer breeze, but clear and unmistakable nonetheless. _"Sansa."_

She rolled onto her other side again, eyes glued to his face, but his own were still closed. There seemed to be a slight crease in his brow though and his mouth was moving.

"Sansa," he sighed again.

She grabbed his hand. "Yes, Jon, I'm here! I'm right here!"

He didn't show any reaction to her calling his name, but after a while his frown deepened and he groaned.

"Jon, please," she begged him, tears closing up her throat. 

His mouth was moving again and Sansa thought it looked as if he was trying to kiss her again. Quickly, she lifted her robe to straddle him and leaned down, giving him a quick peck before covering his lips with her own.

This time, he tried to kiss her back, and she could have wept tears of joy if she hadn't been distracted by the fact that he was doing it all wrong. His mouth opened too widely as he pressed it to hers, sucking on her lips and chin, his tongue searching as he moaned her name. 

He lapped at her in long strokes and then tried sucking again, this time even closing his lips over the tip of her nose. More sloppy, open-mouthed kisses followed, but when he started flicking his tongue over the point of her chin and dragging the tip over it in circles, she realized what he was trying to do.

She pulled away with a gasp, heat flushing her face, and Jon groaned, tilting his neck and sticking his tongue out through swollen parted lips. 

He'd called it the Lord's Kiss that night, had told her he'd been dreaming of giving it to her for such a long time.

If that was what he was trying to do, perhaps she should help him, give him access to her flower, and that sweet fleshy nub hidden between its petals that he seemed to be searching for.

_Seven Hells, _she couldn't do that. Jon wasn't aware of what he was doing, it would be wrong. He was asleep, he couldn't tell her if it was alright for her to do that.

Besides, she hadn't washed in days, she probably didn't smell or taste particularly nice down there right now. That was one thing that could be easily remedied though.

She moved off him, and off the bed, and undressed, taking off the bedrobe and nightrail she'd been wearing for days now. She dipped a rag in the fresh bowl of water her maid had brought that morning and rubbed herself clean. For good measure, she took a second rag to wipe under her breasts and armpits, and then reached for a towel.

Freshly clean and dry, she turned to the bed again and took a deep breath. She climbed back on and took Jon's hand. Was she really going to do this?

"Jon?" she asked softly. "Is this what you want?" 

He gave her no response, but his mouth was still moving. Sansa glanced around and wondered how she was supposed to do this, with Jon being unconscious and mostly unable to cooperate, and then she remembered their night together. 

He'd told her he wanted her to ride his face, but she hadn't felt comfortable doing that, so he'd settled for kneeling in front of her as she was sat on the settee, opening her legs for him, which he'd hauled over his shoulders so he could bury his face in her flower.

She remembered how odd it had felt at first, but Jon had stroked her thighs and belly, holding her hand as he whispered sweet nothings into her sensitive flesh and the soft skin of her thighs, until she'd been able to relax enough and he'd dived back in to bring her pleasure she'd never experienced before. 

"Jon," she asked again. "Do you want to give me the Lord's Kiss? Would it be alright for me to ride your face now?"

He moaned and squeezed her hand, and Sansa decided she was going to take that as a yes before she changed her mind again. If this was the only way to help him, even if he never wanted to speak to her again after, she had to try it. 

It felt too odd to simply climb up and straddle his face, so she pushed herself closer and cupped his cheek to kiss him again, which was difficult since he was still moving his lips as if he were kissing her somewhere else.

She slipped a hand between her own legs and started teasing her folds. Jon had done much the same, preparing her, and he'd explained that it would be uncomfortable if he were to dive right in.

This wasn't about her, but she could at least make sure it didn't feel unpleasant for her to do this. Lying so close to Jon, still holding his hand, she quickly grew wet.

She pulled the covers down and saw that his manhood was hard under his nightshirt. She reached out to brush her fingers over it and it throbbed against her hand. Jon moaned her name again.

He was definitely dreaming about her, and that gave her courage. She pushed herself up, using the headboard for support, and stood over his face, looking down at him before she slowly began to lower herself.

His response was immediate as his mouth started moving against her flower the same way it had against her own mouth. 

His warm, wet tongue slithered through her folds and he lapped up her arousal as she hovered above his face.

He smacked his lips and moaned, the vibrations of it barely tangible to her, as she was still holding herself a little too high in order not to suffocate him.

She grabbed the headboard more tightly and sank a little lower, and this time she could feel his groan reverberate through her sensitive flesh and she rolled her hips in response, a whimper escaping from her throat.

His beard tickled the insides of her thighs, but her movement had also pushed her nub against his searching tongue. Her knees wobbled on the soft pillow under Jon's head and she almost lost her balance. She planted her legs more firmly, and experimentally moved against his mouth.

"Come on, Jon," she keened, shuddering at the touch of his tongue. "Please, wake up!"

His only response was a long lick up her slit before he flicked the tip of his tongue against her pearl.

Sansa rolled her hips again, and again and again, her nails digging into the headboard as she rode his face, like he'd asked her to do that night.

Her body was starting to tense up and pleasure tingled in her core, but she forced herself to stop for a moment. _Gods, _it felt good, but this wasn't about her pleasure. She was not supposed to peak. She wouldn't.

Jon's tongue kept working and he started moving it around in slow circles. It brought her a little relief, as she'd become too sensitve for his earlier direct stimulation, but soon she was grinding herself into his mouth, unable to resist chasing that friction, that promise of sweet release.

Suddenly Jon grabbed her hips and groaned: "_Fuck, _Sansa_, _you taste so sweet. Is this a dream?"

"Jon!" she cried out, her voice half breathless from her oncoming pleasure and half from the realization that he was awake.

It had worked! He was awake! A single tear of joy rolled down her cheek.

"Aye, sweetheart?" he asked.

There must be a hundred things she could or should have said right then, but instead she just begged him: "Please don't stop!"

"Never," he promised, tightening his grip on her hips to start guiding her as he closed his lips over her nub.

Mere moments later, she shattered, explosions of white light blinding her vision as she rode out her climax, chanting his name.

She slumped against the headboard and Jon maneuvered himself out from under her, pulling her down and gently laying her back against the pillows before covering her body with his own.

"Sansa," he sighed, soft dark eyes gazing into her own. Whatever he found there made him smile before he inclined his head to attack her lips, fingers burying themselves in her hair, unravelling messed up braid. 

His beard was soaked, and she could taste herself on his lips. His tongue delved into her mouth, licking into it as he braced himself on one arm so his free hand could explore her body, her own travelling up and down his muscled back and following the curve of his arse.

She arched up against him as he rolled his hips, grinding his hardness into her mound through the thin barrier of his nightshirt, cupping her breast and pinching her nipple before moving his hand down to slip a finger between her slick folds.

"So wet," he murmured, sucking on her neck. "So hot."

"Jon," she sighed, spearing her fingers into his curls. "_Seven Hells__, _Jon!"

He took a moment to sit up between her legs and remove his nightshirt. "Did you make this for me?" he asked, studying the piece of clothing.

She nodded. He usually slept naked, but that would have been awkward with all the people coming to visit him while he was unconscious.

He was hovering over her again, nipping at her lips. Then he rested his forehead against hers and rasped: "Will you please let me into your sweet cunt, Sansa? Will you let me fuck you, sweetheart?"

Despite everything she'd just done, she felt heat flushing her cheeks at his coarse language. She angled her chin up to capture his mouth, sucking his bottom lip between her own and answered: "Yes, _Gods, _please, yes, Jon! Get inside me, now!"

She opened her legs further and tilted her hips to give him better access. Soon she felt the tip of him prodding her entrance and then he entered her, inch by inch, panting and his arms trembling where they were braced on either side of her head.

Part of her wanted to grab his firm round arse to push him all the way inside her, but there was something thrilling about him slowly sinking into her, about the anticipation of feeling completely filled, so instead she grabbed fistfuls of his hair again, fingers tightening more the deeper he advanced.

When he was finally fully sheathed inside of her, Sansa threw her head back and Jon's forehead dropped to the crook of her neck, their moans mingling in the air and where their chests were pressed together.

With his first thrust, his mouth opened over her neck, licking and sucking at her skin as his manhood stroked her inner walls and the rough hair on his chest grazed her nipples. Her hands frantically caressed his arms, sliding down his side and lightly settling on his arse.

He kissed his way up to her mouth as he moved in and out of her in slow, sure strokes. "You feel so good," he murmured against her lips.

"So do you," she sighed, nibbling on his bottom lip before she thrust her tongue into his mouth, coaxing his own to move with hers so she could suck on it. Then she caught his lip between her teeth, pulling before she released it and licked it. 

She wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her arms around his neck, pulling him closer and deeper. His hips snapped, increasing his pace, and at this angle he bumped against her nub with every thrust, building up that sweet tension inside of her again. 

"_Gods, _Sansa, I love you, I never want to leave this room," he babbled, his mouth hovering over hers, the tips of their noses touching.

"I love you, too," she panted.

He captured her lips in a quick kiss. "_Fuck, _you do?" he asked. "I can't believe this is real. You're amazing, so warm and soft, so hot and tight."

She was at a loss at how to respond to his praise, but there was no need as his lips had moved down to suckle on a nipple, and the only sound able to come out of her own mouth was a high-pitched moan.

As his tongue swirled around her other nipple, she felt her second climax approaching. "Jon, please, more," was all she could manage to tell him.

He took her harder and faster and she planted her feet on the mattress so she could move against him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

"Jon, _fuck, _yes!" she mewled, too far gone to care about such a word coming out of her mouth.

"Look at me," Jon demanded roughly. "Please," he added. "Look at me."

She blinked a couple of times before she was able to meet his eyes, which were almost black. _"Fuck, _you look so hot. Your eyes are enough to unman when we are like this, you look so-- His words dissolved into a grunt as he slowed down.

She whimpered in protest. "Please, don't stop."

He huffed, trying to keep himself still a little longer before he obeyed and then Sansa's peak crashed through her body. From the way Jon's hips stuttered, she could tell she'd pulled him with her over the edge.

He kept rocking into her for a couple of moments longer and then he rolled off her, pulling her along with him.

And then suddenly, still coming down from her high, her head pillowed on Jon's chest and her legs tangled with his, Sansa burst into tears.

"Sansa, what's wrong?" Jon asked, and she could hear the panic and confusion in his voice. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she said quickly, not wanting to worry him. "You were wonderful, absolutely perfect."

It took a while for her to get her sobs under control, but eventually she pushed herself up until they were both lying on their sides and facing each other. His hand was hesitating in mid-air, still not sure if she would want him to touch her. She took it and laid it against her cheek, leaning into his touch.

"Don't you remember?" she asked him, searching his eyes. "Something happened to you after you attacked the Night King."

A crease appeared between his eyebrows. "I remember... something. But it's blurry. And it hurts my head to try to remember it."

"You were out for almost ten days," she whispered.

"Ten days?"

She nodded. "And gods, Jon. We tried everything, I swear it, but nothing worked." She took a deep breath to steady herself. "And I wouldn't have done it, but I was desperate."

He shook his head, confusion etched on his face.

"Sam found a book that suggested we could wake you up with a kiss." She decided not to tell him about Tormund and Daenerys, not yet. "And I tried that, but it didn't work. But then you kept saying my name, and it was the first thing you'd said in days and..." She released his hand. 

"I said your name?"

"You did. And then you were doing these weird things with your mouth. And at first I didn't realize... But after a while I recognized what it was, it looked like you were kissing me. Down there."

His eyes grew wide.

"I swear I only did it because I couldn't think of anything else." She was sobbing again, unable to meet his eyes.

"So... You sat on my face and started riding it because you thought it was the only way to wake me up?"

"I did," she confessed. "And it worked, didn't it? But... I know it was wrong, and I'm so sorry, Jon. Can you forgive me?"

His thumb stroked her cheekbone, brushing her hair back from her face. "Sshh," he whispered. "Calm down, Sansa. You saved me, and I love you. I understand why you did it, and I forgive you."

She glanced up at him. "Truly?"

"Truly," he answered with an unusually bright smile.

He wiped away her tears and pulled her close, pressing his lips to her forehead. 

When he pulled away, he asked: "So it's over? The Night King is gone?"

"Arya killed him."

He chuckled. "Of course she did."

"She had some help from Bran."

"Obviously."

She tilted her head up to kiss him, and then his stomach rumbled.

"I'm hungry," he pointed out.

"Really?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "I couldn't have guessed. I've been feeding you nothing but broth and honeyed water."

"You fed me?" he asked. "You stayed with me, all this time?"

She leaned in to nudge his nose with he own. "I haven't left my chambers since they brought you here."

He looked at her with such tenderness in his eyes she was afraid she would start to cry again.

"Let's get dressed and sneak down to the kitchens to get some food and then come back here," he said with a mischievous smile, taking her hand.

She giggled as she laced their fingers together. 

His eyes softened again, and he lifted their hands to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. "And then you can sleep for as long as you like, and this time I'll stay to watch over you."

She squeezed his hand and whispered back: "Sounds like a plan."


End file.
